Always Seeing You
by Jananae
Summary: The Doctor revisits his past as he wanders through the TARDIS. Tag to "The Name of the Doctor". Doctor/River. Oneshot.


**A/N—So what my usual readers probably don't know is that I recently became a major Doctor Who fan. After watching the first couple episodes, I immediately plowed through the rest of the TV series and caught up just in time to watch the second half of Season Seven as it aired. And the season finale? Just...amazing. Moffat destroyed my heart so many ways in the absolutely best way possible. Since the "Library" episodes, I've been a supporter of The Doctor and River's relationship (and was absolutely ecstatic when they officially became canon). They are, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful (and tragic) married couples I've ever seen in fiction.**

**So as you can imagine, these feelings from both the episode and their romance inspired this piece. This takes place after "The Name of the Doctor" and is a reflection on what The Doctor must be going through after all that happened in the finale.**

The Doctor walked through the silent corridors of the TARDIS, listening to the sound his feet made as it reverberated off the slanted walls. He had dropped Clara off at her home over a week ago. These were the times when the TARDIS ran quiet as he ventured into her endless and ever-changing passageways and rooms. At these times, when his companions were not with him, when he left them to their own lives for a while, The Doctor simply wandered in silence.

But he wasn't always alone. These quiet times were when she showed up the most. He would see her walking the corridors sometimes, just a glimpse here or there. She would appear out of the corner of his eye when he was tinkering in the control room, maybe offer him some advice on his work.

"Well, that won't do. You know you're just asking to overload the system if you connect that there." Or, "Now THAT will work nicely; you could boost power by 9.6% by doing that."

But mostly, he saw her in the library; that's where she seemed to show up the most. He would wander through the stacks, dragging his fingers along the spines of the countless books, pulling random titles from the shelves, flipping through and remembering what happened on page 578 or that piece of obscure history from a civilization long-since gone. She would come up behind him, provide a comment, and wander off again.

As he entered the library on this particular night, he looked up at the towering shelves and ran his hand over his head with a puffed sigh.

"Where are you this time, Professor Song?" he asked the still and quiet space. He listened for a response and heard nothing. After a moment, he shook his head and said with a small smile, "Silly me," and walked further in, heading for a specific section. As he came upon the bottles, he didn't immediately reach for one; he simply observed the play of the soft light off their dark glass.

Finally, he slowly pulled the leftmost one from the shelf, feeling its weight in his hands. He listened again for any sign of life in the library, but all he heard was his quiet breathing. He carefully uncorked the bottle in his hands and inhaled.

All at once, he heard, he saw, he smelled, he tasted, he touched his home of Gallifrey. He saw the mountains, he felt the sun in that burnt orange sky, he heard the discussions of people nearby. He breathed for a few moments, taking in the memories of long ago days. Then he left his reverie and re-corked the bottle.

As he replaced it on the shelf in front of him, his eyes inevitably drifted to the darkest bottle on the far right. Tentatively, he pulled it from the shelf, its heavy weight pushing down. With a shaking hand, he pulled the cork. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brow, and slowly leaned in.

The smell of burn assaulted him first. Acrid smoke wafted through the air, carrying with it screams and yells, cries for help, cries of anger. And everything was burning. Everywhere he looked, he saw fire. His breathing became shallow, the air burning his lungs.

_This is my fault, all my fault._ The thought consumed him, dragging him further into the memory.

The contents of the bottle didn't let him go until he felt two reassuring hands on his, still grasping the bottle tightly. Eyes still clamped shut, he heard her say quietly, "Why do you do this to yourself?"

He slowly opened his eyes and looked into hers as she stood in front of him. There was no smoke, no fire, nothing drifting on winds that weren't there. Without answering, he gently replaced the cork and returned it to its place on the shelf. She stared silently as he brought a hand to his eyes, breathing heavily. _You're not here. Not anymore,_ he thought to himself.

He heard her move closer and felt her hands on his face. He lowered his own hand and opened his eyes. "I'm here as much as you need to me to be," she said softly. He closed his eyes again and leaned into her hand, his own coming up to grasp hers. He imagined, _remembered_, their warmth.

"I may not actually be here. I may only be memory, but I _am_ here for you." He nodded quietly into both of their hands. "Doctor, you really aren't alone." He nodded more fervently this time, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He let his memory overtake him, breathing her in, feeling her skin, hearing her voice. And he still did not open his eyes because he knew that if he did, he would want to reach for her, hold her, have her hold him. And he knew that was not possible. So he clung to the memories instead, all-the-while holding her hands to his cheeks, not willing to let go of the sensation that wasn't actually there.

**A/N—Thank you for taking the time to read my first Doctor Who fic. Feel free to review, comment, or criticize. Until next time, happy reading :)**


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